May I Have This Dance?
by ilovecastiel18
Summary: Throughout their years together, there have been multiple occasions when Crowley desperately wanted to dance with Aziraphale. There was one time where he gave in to the desire. Or, five times Crowley wanted to dance with Aziraphale, and one time they did. Angst, fluff, etc.
1. The Garden

**Disclaimer: **Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

**Chapter Summary: **After Aziraphale uses his wing to protect Crowley from the rain, he has a sudden urge to dance with the angel.

….

May I Have This Dance?

Chapter 1: The Garden

….

Crowley was a demon. He was the original Tempter, not that he necessarily knew that at the time. He was a snake, an animal that would be associated with evil for the rest of time, because he had caused Eve to eat the apple.

He knew he was supposed to be evil, that was in his nature. He was a demon; it was in the job description. But, despite this, he hadn't wanted to cause Adam and Eve to leave the Garden. He had just been doing his job.

He had always felt a little… different. As if the Fall hadn't taken every ounce of goodness from his being.

And that made his job a lot harder, because he had to struggle against his morality in order to do the tasks that he was assigned. Like Tempting Eve.

He just wished that there was another being out there, _somewhere, _that felt the same way that he did. As if he didn't quite fit into his realm. He was different, and that was a horrible thing to be when everyone else that you're around is exactly the same.

And if you're sure to be severely punished, possibly killed, if any one of those being found out about how different you really were.

So, Crowley allowed himself to forget, just for a little while, about how alone he was. He left Hell and made his way to the surface of the Earth.

Just as Crowley was breaking through the ground of the Garden, intent on eating some fruit from the bushes, he caught a glimpse of a blond-hair angel standing on the wall that surrounded the lush greenery, the wall that protected it from the harsh desert elements outside.

He didn't know who the angel was, or what he was doing, but he felt a sudden urge to take on a human form and talk to the little man watching over the corrupted humans. Maybe, just maybe, he could have a moment of peace, where he didn't feel quite so alone.

Even if the white-clad, barefoot being on the wall _was _an angel.

He slithered up the wall with practiced ease, taking on his human form as he reached the top. This consisted of a thin – almost too thin – body wrapped in a dark gray tunic, with long, curly red hair, yellow snake eyes (something he couldn't change no matter what form he was in), and wings as black as night stretching out behind him.

Okay, so maybe his human form wasn't entirely _human. _But he had the ability to hide his wings, so it was close enough to pass, as long as people didn't look too closely at his eyes.

As he started talking to the angel, he had the sudden, unexpected thought that he actually _liked _this being.

Crowley knew angels. He knew that they were cold and cruel, and they didn't give a damn about anything unless it benefitted them.

So why, in the name of Satan himself, did this one decide to give his flaming sword to the fallen humans? They had sinned – had rebelled, in a sense – angels didn't go for that sort of thing. That was one thing that Crowley could never forget.

But this angel – Aziraphale, apparently – had chosen to help the humans, despite the fact that he was going against God Herself. If she had wanted the humans to have a flaming sword, wouldn't she have given them one?

Thoughts like these made Crowley's head spin. He hated thinking about the Almighty and her plans for the world. Thinking about those things when he was still an angel had caused him to get a nice good smacking – right over the edge, so he would Fall for millions of lightyears into a pit of boiling sulfur.

That was the only thing that Crowley remembered of Heaven. He remembered asking questions, and promptly Falling.

He didn't even remember his name.

So, when he heard this… innocent, kind angel telling him that he had given away his flaming sword, Crowley had to fight back a little smile at the _audacity _of this silly little blond entity.

"You _what?_" he had exclaimed, a small smile curling the edges of his mouth.

"I gave it away!" Aziraphale cried out, looking unsure of everything he had ever done in his life.

Crowley had smiled then, allowing himself to bathe in the unbelievable _goodness _of Aziraphale. He had never met an angel who was so kindhearted, so loyal and loving, as the one that was standing next to him.

Crowley allowed himself the thought that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't alone. Maybe there was another being like him after all, one that didn't quite fit into Heaven, just like Crowley didn't fit in with Hell.

Crowley cracked a joke as this thought came to him, saying something like "It would be funny, wouldn't it, if you did the bad thing and I did the good." He wasn't sure exactly what he had said, he was too busy staring in awe at the ridiculous angel that was staring out at the desert, a look of apprehension on his face.

Right then, Crowley knew that he wanted to be friends with Aziraphale. No matter what it took, what they were risking, he wanted to spend more than one night in conversation with the incredible being that was standing next to him, who was muttering something like "No, that wouldn't be funny at all!"

Yes, this angel was different. And he liked that a lot.

As thunder boomed and the First Rain started to fall, Crowley inched a millimeter closer to Aziraphale, smiling as the angel lifted his wing to shield him from the rain.

"And what about you, angel?" Crowley asked as rain flattened Aziraphale's fluffy blond curls.

"I'll be fine. If the Almighty intended to do harm with this falling water, the harm would have already been done, yes?" he muttered, looking unsure of himself.

"But you're getting all wet." Crowley lifter his wing as he said this, allowing it to hover a few feet above Aziraphale's head, shielding him from the downpour.

"Oh, thank you." Aziraphale said with a small smile.

When Aziraphale smiled, Crowley had the sudden urge to pull the angel against his chest and move along to the soft pitter patter of the rain hitting the stone wall they were standing on. He resisted the urge, due to his enormous willpower (which was necessary when you had to follow orders you didn't like, or risk destruction by holy water) and the sad look on Aziraphale's face.

"What's wrong, angel?" He muttered, balling his hands into fists so he didn't reach out and touch his shoulder, or his soft, damp hair.

"Oh, I suppose I'm just worried about Adam and Eve. And I'm worried about Heaven, and how they plan to deal with this… development." Aziraphale answered, wringing his hands together.

"I'm sure they'll figure something out. Heaven is made up of the good guys, and the good guys always win." Crowley said sarcastically.

Aziraphale, completely missing the sarcasm in Crowley's voice, muttered "I suppose you're right." He looked up from where he had been staring at his feet, looking out toward the horizon.

Crowley could just barely make out the light from the sword that Aziraphale had given Adam, flaming despite the torrential downpour. He thought he could spend eternity trying to figure out the enigma that was the silly angel standing next to him.

"I should probably be getting back actually. Gabriel will want an update." Aziraphale turned and gave Crowley a small smile before disappearing with a small _pop._

Crowley stood in the rain for a long time, staring at the spot where Aziraphale had been standing, and hoping that he would see him again.


	2. The Globe Theater

**Disclaimer: **Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

**Chapter Summary: **Crowley feels the urge to dance with Aziraphale again while they are watching Hamlet at the Globe Theater. Aziraphale hold his hand during the play, and Crowley hopes that one day, he can actually dance with his best friend.

**A/N: **I know absolutely, positively _nothing _about Hamlet. I think it ends with a death, right? Anyway, I didn't write much about the play, but if I was wrong, forgive me.

….

May I Have This Dance?

Chapter 2: The Globe Theater

….

As Crowley walked up behind Aziraphale in the Globe Theater, he felt his heart soar.

Despite all odds, he and Aziraphale had become somewhat friends (thought Aziraphale would never admit it). They enjoyed each other's company, enjoyed being able to know someone who wouldn't die as they navigated the hurricane that was time. They were immortal, so unless their respective offices decided to kill them or pull them back from the Earth, they were in it together until the end.

Crowley always felt relieved every time he bumped into Aziraphale, because it meant that the angel was safe, and still on the Earth, and Crowley wouldn't be alone again.

He knew that Aziraphale felt the same way, despite his argument to the contrary. He always noticed the little smiles that Aziraphale tried to hide, the way his eyes brightened when he would catch a glimpse of fiery red hair.

No, Aziraphale wouldn't admit it, probably wouldn't for a very long time, but he liked Crowley. He liked having another immortal being that he could talk to about the developments on Earth, something that his brethren in Heaven would never – could never – understand.

Crowley wasn't alone. And he thanked God – thanked Satan – every day that he had found Aziraphale. Because, if he was being honest with himself (which he rarely was), he would admit that he didn't know how much longer he could have lasted in Hell without some sort of anchor tethering him to life.

Being the only demon with a sense of right and wrong was, well, Hell.

If he didn't have Aziraphale, he probably would have found some holy water and offed himself a long time ago. Crowley didn't often let his thoughts dwindle on suicide, but the thought was always there. The thought that, if something happened to the sweet, innocent angel standing beside him… he really wouldn't have any reason to live. He certainly didn't care about what Hell thought.

Crowley smiled as Aziraphale popped a grape in his mouth and smiled toward the stage.

He grinned, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses, when Aziraphale said they weren't friends, and they'd never met before. Honestly, the angel just needed to accept that there was something drawing them together, something he couldn't get rid of by lying about it.

He felt his heart soar with how bloody _adorable _Aziraphale was when he yelled out "Oh, to be! I mean, not to be!"

Honestly, the effort Aziraphale put into making other people happy still astounded Crowley, no matter how long they had been friends. That angel's smile could light up a room.

Crowley's thoughts suddenly strayed to the Almighty as Aziraphale explained that he was also meant to be going to Edinburgh. Was this some kind of joke, like the dinosaurs?

Crowley couldn't help but wonder if God was pushing them together, trying to make the impossible friendship a reality. Certainly, she wouldn't do something that would put an angel in danger? Because Crowley knew for a fact that, if Heaven or Hell found out about their little Arrangement, both of them would be killed in a heartbeat. Neither realm had any time or patience for a friendship between an angel and a demon.

Crowley gave Aziraphale a wicked smile as he tossed the coin that would decide who was going to Edinburgh. He didn't use any magic to make the coin land on tails, but he had a feeling that it was going to.

Then, he heard Shakespeare exclaimed that "it would take a miracle for anybody to come and see Hamlet!" and, of course, he couldn't resist Aziraphale's puppy dog eyes and small smile.

Of _course _he would perform a small miracle to draw a crowd to the play. He would part the bloody _seas _if it meant he could see Aziraphale smile.

"Alright, I'll do that one. My treat." He muttered, looking at Aziraphale over the tops of his tiny glasses.

"Oh, really?" Aziraphale asked, a hopefully look in his eyes. A loving look, though neither of them were willing to admit that.

"I still prefer the funny ones." He called toward Aziraphale as he walked away, unable to hide the wide grin that was adorning his face.

….

Later that week, after Aziraphale had returned from Edinburgh and Crowley had performed his little miracle, the two of them sat in the royalty box near the top of the theater, watching actors perform the sad play with a renewed vigor. They had an audience, they had to be interested in what they were doing now.

As the actors dramatically played out one of the sad scenes, Aziraphale reached over and placed hi hand atop Crowley's, idly stroking the demon's bony knuckles with his thumb.

"Thank you, dear." He muttered.

"Anytime, angel." Crowley muttered, refusing to look down at where their hands were clasped together. He was ready to admit that he loved Aziraphale, but he refused to force the same revelations onto his friend.

As the band struck up a sad, mournful tune to go along with the sad, mournful scene of the play, Crowley once again felt the urge to pull Aziraphale into his arms and dance.

Because that is what he had wanted to do before, when they were standing in the rain at the edge of the garden. He had wanted to slow dance. He had wanted nothing more than to take that silly blond angel, pull him into his chest, and sway to the sound of the rain. Dance along to everything, and nothing at all.

He clenched his free hand in a fist to keep it from shaking, because dear _God – _Satan – he wanted to dance with Aziraphale. He wanted nothing more than to hold the angel's hand in his own, have his other hand on his hip, have Aziraphale's soft blond curls brush his chin as the angel rested his head over his unnecessary heart.

In that moment, Crowley would have given up Heaven, Hell, Earth, and all the stars to be able to hold Aziraphale against him and sway to the music. He would descend into the darkest pits of Hell and be tortured for the next millennia if he could spend the next five minutes slow dancing with his best friend, his love (he would never admit to anyone that Aziraphale was his love, he barely admitted it to himself. But the thought was there regardless). He would face down the Almighty Herself if it meant he could be that close to Aziraphale for even a _second._

And then the song was over, and the play ended, and Crowley felt his hopes die as Aziraphale let go of his hand and stood from his seat.

"That was really very good, wasn't it, Crowley?" he asked as he slowly walked toward the curtained exit.

Crowley stood too, allowing his thoughts of dancing to fade into the background. "It was alright. I still prefer the funny ones, though." He muttered, following Aziraphale out of the box and down the steps, to join the queue of people pushing to get out of the theater.

"Yes, I know, dear." Aziraphale whispered, once again taking his hand so they wouldn't get separated in the crowd.

And, as Crowley squeezed the soft hand that was wrapped around his own, he let himself hope that maybe, one day, they really could have that dance.


	3. Crepes in Paris

**Disclaimer: **Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

**Chapter Summary: **Crowley saves Aziraphale from the Bastille, and once again feels the desperate urge to dance with the angel while they are eating crepes. Aziraphale looks so happy…

….

May I Have This Dance?

Chapter 3: Crepes in Paris

….

Crowley had a sort of Aziraphale-sense, not that he was willing to admit that to _anyone. _He always got a bad feeling when Aziraphale was in trouble, and could usually pinpoint where the angel was and get a general sense of what was bothering him. It was useful, since the angel was, more or less, a dumbass, and constantly got himself in sticky situations that could have been easily avoided.

Aziraphale didn't know he had this sense, and Crowley figured it wasn't something he should bring up in conversation. He didn't know how the angel would react to knowing that he had a sort of spidey-sense in relation to him.

Usually, Crowley ignored the feelings that he got from the sense, because 95% of the time, Aziraphale was upset because someone bought one of his books. As if owning a bookshop wasn't a literal invitation for people to come in and buy his books. A personal library would have been a better idea, but who listens to Crowley?

Sometimes, he would feel a pulse of anxiety as Aziraphale worried about their friendship being found out by Gabriel or the other archangels. He understood this anxiety, wanted to be there for his friend during these things. But he never went to Aziraphale when he worried like that. He figured it was better to stay away if Aziraphale was anxious about their friendship, lest he decide that it would be better to stop seeing each other entirely.

But this time… Crowley could feel that something was seriously wrong. He had been lounging in an old, rusty bar in Massachusetts when he felt it – a deep sense of panic and fear.

Of course, he knew that Aziraphale probably wasn't going to _die. _The only things that could really kill an angel were celestial weapons or Hellfire. _Still, _Crowley thought, _his dumb ass probably got himself into a situation where he's going to be discorporated. _Crowley set his drink down and focused on the feeling, trying to pinpoint where Aziraphale was. _Of course, he's in the Bastille. He's going to get his head chopped off, for what? Probably food…_

Crowley summoned all the power he could muster to make the jump from America to France, using the last of his willpower to change his clothes so Aziraphale wouldn't suspect anything.

It wasn't that he didn't want Aziraphale to know that he had put all this effort into saving him, it was just… alright, he didn't want Aziraphale to know how much effort he had put into saving him. He had fallen hopelessly in love with the angel, but that didn't mean that said angel needed to know about it.

As he lounged against the wall of Aziraphale's cell, he allowed himself a moment to judge the angel's clothes. _No wonder the idiot got captured; he's in France, dressed like an aristocrat._

Then, Aziraphale muttered something about the French being "animals," and Crowley decided to make his presence known.

"Animals don't kill each other with clever machines, angel. Only humans do that." Crowley piped up.

"Crowley…" Aziraphale replied. Crowley could clearly hear the smile in the angel's voice, and could see it on is face when he turned around. It made his unnecessary heart flutter in his chest, because _dear God, _Aziraphale was beautiful. His hair, his eyes, his smile, his poor fashion choices (Crowley judges Aziraphale on his clothes even when he wasn't being stupid and getting himself captured because of them), his love of creature comforts such as books and food… Aziraphale was so wonderful, so astoundingly beautiful, that Crowley could hardly contain the love he felt bubbling up inside him.

"Oh, good Lord…" Aziraphale muttered when he saw Crowley's clothes.

Crowley smiled as he stood from where he had been seated, smiling when he reprimanded Aziraphale on _his _clothes, and the angel replied with "Well, I have standards."

And then, he and Aziraphale were escaping, walking away from the Bastille to get some crepes. Crowley didn't much enjoy food, but the smile on Aziraphale's face whenever he saw something particularly tasty made him feel giddy. So, he obliged.

As they made their way toward the restaurant, Crowley used another little demonic miracle to change Aziraphale's clothes back to something that was more his style, while still not looking like an aristocrat.

"Oh, thank you…" Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley hummed.

As they walked up to the doors of the _delightful little restaurant, _as Aziraphale called it, a table miraculously came open. Crowley wasn't afraid of his Head Office, he hardly used miracles as it was. Anyway, they likely wouldn't reprimand him for using his powers to give himself creature comforts – that was part of being a demon, using your powers to disrupt the lives of humans to benefit yourself.

And, when he saw Aziraphale's smile as they were taken to their seats… it was worth it. Everything was worth it if he got to see that smile. He would gladly have Beelzebub torture him for all of eternity if he could keep seeing that smile. He felt like his love for Aziraphale was like a star, burning brighter and brighter the longer it grew.

They sat down at their table, Aziraphale ordering a large arrangement of different crepes, along with a nice bottle of wine. Crowley sipped the wine and watched Aziraphale's look of pure joy as he ate, allowing the love in his eyes to be hidden by his sunglasses.

The band struck up a slow melody, a sort of mournful love song with a lot of piano and cello. Crowley didn't recognize the song, but he recognized the feeling that welled up inside of him when he heard it.

He wanted to dance with Aziraphale. He wanted to dance with him so badly, he felt like he would give up the entire Earth to do so. When the Apocalypse happened, he would let it play out if he could just hold Aziraphale, sway with him to the beautiful music that was thrumming all around them.

He didn't care if there wasn't a dance floor, and if no other couples were attempting to dance. He would slow down time if he had to, just to be able to hold Aziraphale against him. To clasp his hand in his own, place his hand on the angel's hip and just love him. All he wanted to do was be able to love Aziraphale…

"It's a lovely song." Crowley muttered, looking up from his wine glass. He hadn't meant to say it, it just sort of came out of his mouth. He prayed (not to the Almighty, maybe to… Satan? Beelzebub? Maybe a lower level angel, like Sandalphon? He prayed to somebody, at any rate) that Aziraphale wouldn't notice the hopeful look in his eye. That maybe, just maybe, Aziraphale would ask _him _to dance.

"Yes, it is, isn't it, dear?" Aziraphale answered, taking a final bite of his last crepe. "This was scrumptious, Crowley. Thank you for coming with me." Aziraphale stood from his seat to leave the restaurant. Crowley miracle the bill paid, and then followed the angel out to the sidewalk.

He felt his heart fall somewhere around his navel. Every time he wanted to dance with Aziraphale, something always happened where they didn't have the chance. Something was always ending when Crowley was working up the courage to begin something new.

As they walked down a dirty alleyway (if they were going to miracle themselves back to London, they had to find a place where they wouldn't be seen by any humans), Crowley let his thoughts drift to how much he loved Aziraphale.

He told himself that one day, _one day, _he would get that dance with Aziraphale. And he would make the most of it.


	4. The Blitz

**Disclaimer: **Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

**Chapter Summary: **After Crowley saves Aziraphale from the Nazis, and after he performs his own little demonic miracle to save the angel's books, he has to walk away. He can't look at the look of pure love on Aziraphale's face without wanting to take the angel into his arms and slow dance, even though there is no music.

….

May I Have this Dance?

Chapter 4: The Blitz

….

_Of course, Aziraphale got himself into trouble again, _Crowley thought as he rushed toward a little church on the west side of London. _I swear to Satan, if he gets himself discorporated…_

Crowley pulled up to the curb faster than he probably should have, hopping out of the car before it was fully in park. _Of course, he got himself caught in a goddamn church… _He felt panic rising up inside his stomach as he walked toward the door. He knew that Aziraphale probably wasn't in danger of dying, but still…

Crowley ran into the church without a moment's hesitation, hopping from one foot to the other as the consecrated ground burned his feet. He wouldn't dare risk Aziraphale's life (well, discorporation) for the sake of his feet – he didn't want to spend any more time away from the angel than was strictly necessary. And discorporation would mean that Aziraphale would be away from the Earth for a _very _long time.

When he saw Aziraphale, alive and worried (as usual), Crowley felt a sense of relief flood him that he hadn't felt since he first saw the angel in the Garden. Since he found out that he wasn't the only one that didn't fit into his realm.

"Consecrated ground, like… walking on a beach in bare feet." Crowley lied.

The truth was, the floor was burning him. He felt blisters erupting on the bottoms of his feet, despite the thick soles of his shoes. He felt the burn spreading up his legs, like he was being burned at the stake. If he stayed much longer, he would be discorporated.

But he wasn't going to leave without Aziraphale.

And then, the angel was blaming him for the Nazis, saying that the war was his doing. If Crowley was honest with himself, it hurt to be accused like that. Aziraphale should have known by now that he never caused real damage. Minor mishaps and inconveniences, sure, but he never caused real harm. He wasn't that kind of demon.

Still, Crowley explained that _of course the Nazis weren't his doing. _Because he would never do something like that, something that could potentially harm the Earth, harm the humans, past the point of no return. He would never hurt Aziraphale like that.

As he explained about the stray bomb about to fall on the building, and how "if there is a bomb about to fall on this building, it would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it," he felt hugely relieved that he had gotten there when he did. It looked as if Aziraphale had been moments away from being shot.

Sure, maybe Aziraphale didn't have as much faith in him as he had in the angel. But they were still friends. And Crowley didn't want to be away from Aziraphale for the amount of time he would be in Heaven after being discorporated.

As the bomb dropped and the building exploded, Crowley found that he suddenly didn't have to dance around like an idiot. The ground was no longer consecrated. Which was a good thing, because if he had been in there for two more minutes, his body would have discorporated.

It was worth it, but still. _So much paperwork._

Then, Aziraphale was calling him kind, calling him a good friend, and Crowley had to swiftly replace his sunglasses on his nose to hide the joy in his eyes.

"Shut up," he muttered, a small smile gracing his face. That was something he wasn't able to hold back.

"Oh, the books!" Aziraphale exclaimed, lifting his hands in the air as he remembered his beautiful treasures. "Oh, they'll be completely _ruined…" _he muttered, despair in his voice.

Crowley let himself smile softly as he walked over next to the angel, yanking the bag of books from the hand of one of the dead Nazis. As he handed them to Aziraphale, he had the sudden urge to take the angel into his arms and dance. There was no music, and the sound of the bombs dropping on the city was something that made Crowley cringe like he never had before.

But if he could just hold Aziraphale against him, everything would be better. The bombs would stop falling, the sirens would end, and everything would be silent.

That's what Crowley felt like his love for Aziraphale could do. It could stop time.

"Little demonic miracle of my own." He muttered, smiling at his friend.

And then Aziraphale was smiling at him with this look of pure _love _on his face, something that Crowley had wanted to see since he met the angel in the Garden. Something that he had always hoped to see someday, but that he was wholly unprepared for.

He had to walk away before he started dancing with Aziraphale right here and now to the sound of the sirens and screaming.

Crowley felt like he could dance to the sound of silence as long as he was with Aziraphale.

But this was neither the time nor the place for those feelings, Crowley knew that. He knew that if he really wanted to be with Aziraphale, he would have to wait. The angel wasn't prepared for the kind of feelings that he was _clearly _starting to feel.

Plus, he was sure that Aziraphale was nervous that Heaven would find out that he fancied a demon.

Crowley let himself hope that he was reading the situation correctly as he hobbled away from the ruins of the church, the burns on his feet becoming more pronounced.

He felt Aziraphale's loving gaze follow him all the way to his car before the angel started to follow him. He carefully placed his beloved books in the back of Crowley's car before sliding into the passenger seat, noticing the grimace on his friend's face.

"Are you alright, dear?" Aziraphale asked quietly.

"Consecrated ground and demons don't mix, angel. I'll be alright." Crowley rubbed a hand over his burned knee as he started the car and peeled away from the curb, causing Aziraphale to jump back in his seat.

"Are you sure?" Aziraphale questioned. "You said it was like walking on a beach with bare feet, but I have a feeling you were… downplaying the level of pain you were in."

"Maybe. It doesn't matter. You're alright, that's all that I care about. I'll heal."

"I can help. Come to the bookshop." Aziraphale muttered, looking out the window.

So, Crowley obliged, because he would do anything that the angel asked of him. When they reached the bookshop and made their way inside, Crowley collapsed on the couch in the back with a groan.

Aziraphale poured them both a glass of wine before moving to awkwardly hover near the arm of the sofa. He cleared his throat as Crowley took a large swig of his wine. "Crowley, dear, I can… well, I can heal you. If you'd like. As thanks for saving me." He muttered.

Crowley nodded. Frankly, he would take any help he could get. The pain in his feet and legs was getting worse by the second. He took another large drink of wine, almost emptying the glass.

And then Aziraphale was touching his forehead lightly, and he could feel the burns on his skin wash away as if they were merely spots of dirt instead of deep, holy scorches that ran down to his bones.

When he was finished, Aziraphale moved his hand from Crowley's forehead to his shoulder, squeezing gently.

And, as Crowley lifted his free hand to place it atop Aziraphale's, he allowed himself to hope, once again. One day, he promised himself, he _would _dance with Aziraphale.


	5. Averting the War

**Disclaimer: **Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

**Chapter Summary: **After Crowley explains that the Apocalypse is in the works, because he just delivered the Antichrist (and after they get royally drunk), he once again wants to dance with Aziraphale. He almost reaches out to do so before they sober up and start talking about how to avert the war. But the feeling never goes away…

….

May I Have This Dance?

Chapter 5: Averting the War

….

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! _Crowley thought as he pulled up onto the curb in front of Aziraphale's bookshop. _Eleven years… eleven more years until the Apocalypse happens and the world ends. Only eleven more years until he would never see Aziraphale again…_

Crowley felt tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

As a rule, Crowley didn't cry. He was a demon, a soldier of Hell. If anyone found out about him crying (anyone except Aziraphale, perhaps), he would be forcibly taken down to the deepest, darkest pit of Hell and tortured until every morsel, every _fiber _of goodness that was in him was firmly squashed. Until he was a true demon, not the hybrid that he seemed to be.

Like Aziraphale also seemed to be.

But, he was so _disgusted _by Heaven and Hell, by the war that threatened everything. He was so appalled by the actions of Heaven and Hell that he could hardly contain the tears that threatened to spill. He felt his breathing become more erratic as his thoughts continued to stray.

Not only was the Earth going to be destroyed, but he would never see Aziraphale again. Even if they both, miraculously, lived, there would no longer by any mutual ground for them to meet on. They would be stuck in Heaven and Hell for the rest of eternity.

After six millennia together, after six thousand years of loving Aziraphale with every ounce of his being… Crowley would never see him again. He only had eleven years left of being with his best friend before everything was destroyed.

He sat at his steering wheel and cried, despite his attempts to avoid exactly that. He cried for the Earth, all the humans that would lose everything, the _children…_

He cried for the Antichrist, for what a mere eleven-year-old would have to do. A child, destroying the entire world.

He cried for Aziraphale, for his friend's affinity for human food and wine and music and _books. _The angel had spent years building up his vast collection of literature, and it would all be gone with the snap of a child's fingers.

He sat and cried until he couldn't anymore. For everything that was, everything that should be.

How many priceless books and manuscripts would be burned? How many churches, homes, gardens? How much knowledge would be lost in the oncoming war? All those stories, all that wisdom… gone in an instant.

How many children would never be born? How many babies would be born simply to die before they are even able to form a conscious thought? How many people would cease to exist, how many lives would end, just because Heaven and Hell wanted a war? Because angels and demons were evil, soulless creatures that cared about nobody, nothing except who would win the Great Battle between the two realms.

Crowley was a great many things – but cruel was not one of them. He would never even _consider _ending seven billion lives for a stupid war. Neither would Aziraphale.

When Crowley's tears ran out and his sobs turned to sniffles, he vigorously wiped at the tear tracks on his face, hoping that his sunglasses would hide the tears in his eyes from Aziraphale.

And then he walked into the bookshop to discuss the end of the world with his best friend.

….

Crowley was drunk. He was extraordinarily, incredibly, unbelievably drunk.

He had taken his sunglasses off hours ago – he trusted Aziraphale, he had absolutely no reason to hide his eyes from the angel. Plus, he had been having a hard time seeing through the tinted lenses after his seventh glass of wine.

He was vaguely aware that he was mumbling about _something… _fish? Brains? He wasn't sure exactly what was coming out of his mouth now that he had drank his way through four bottles of wine all by himself.

He remembered that, hours ago, he had been sobbing in his car. Then he had come into the bookshop and explained to his best friend – the love of his _very_ long life – that the Apocalypse was in motion. That they only had eleven more years until everything was destroyed.

After that, things got a bit fuzzy. The two of them had decided that it was the perfect time to get royally drunk and stay that way for several hours. Crowley hadn't had a fully-formed, conscious thought in about four hours.

Not that he wanted to, anyway. If he sobered up, he would be reminded, very forcibly, that the world was going to end in eleven years, and he was going to lose Aziraphale.

He had never even told the angel that he loved him.

Crowley was vaguely aware of Aziraphale standing to put on a record. He watched as the angel wobbled as he stood, nearly falling back into the chair he had been sitting in.

Then, Aziraphale's favorite record (Beethoven? At this point, Crowley wasn't sure if he could tell the difference between Queen and Bach) came on, and Crowley found that he desperately wanted to take Aziraphale into his arms and dance to the music.

As drunk as they were, Crowley knew that the action would be uncoordinated – they would most likely knock a couple of bookshelves over, if he was being honest with himself…

But the urge was still there. They only had eleven more years until they would never see each other again. It was now or never, and the alcohol numbing Crowley's system gave him just enough courage to stand and stumble toward his friend.

He felt a very strong desire to profess his love for Aziraphale. To tell the angel exactly how he had felt from the moment he laid eyes on him in the Garden. To explain that it was going to be the end of the bloody _world _in a few short years, they should make the most of them.

But then, Aziraphale was sobering up, and Crowley found himself doing the same. Suddenly, he no longer had the courage to explain that he was in love with the angel, had been since they met. He found that he couldn't make his arms reach out and wrap around his best friend, pull him into his darkly-clad chest.

He wanted nothing more than to curl up next to Aziraphale and lay his head over the angel's pointlessly beating heart, to be reassured that they were still alive, still had just a few more years together…

But he didn't. Crowley found himself discussing the Apocalypse, discussing plans to try to influence the Antichrist to be neutral.

He found himself to be incredibly relieved that he would be spending more time with Aziraphale now that their time together was limited. They used to go decades, even centuries without seeing each other. But now that there was a time frame… Crowley felt like his head might explode if he spent more than a week away from his beloved angel.

Maybe their plans would work. Maybe they would actually be able to shape the Antichrist – Warlock, apparently – into a being that would refuse the war. If he wasn't too good or bad, if he was just _right _in between…

Crowley found himself hoping that they would stop the Apocalypse. Not just for the sake of the humans, or his car, or alcohol, or Aziraphale's little bookshop that was (and Crowley would never admit this to anyone) more of a home to him than his flat, Heaven, or Hell had ever been.

No, he found himself hoping that perhaps one day, if they are able to avert the war and save the world…

Perhaps one day he would explain to Aziraphale exactly how he felt about him. Possibly, Aziraphale would explain that he loved him too, and they could live _happily ever after._

Maybe one day, Crowley would finally be able to slow dance with the love of his life.


	6. The Rest of Their Lives

**Disclaimer: **Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

**Chapter Summary: **After the Apocalypse is averted and Crowley and Aziraphale successfully fooled Heaven and Hell into leaving them alone, they are sitting in the back of the bookshop, sipping wine, listening to old records, and reminiscing. And Crowley feels that well-known desire to pull Aziraphale in his arms and slow dance. This time, he gives in and allows himself to reach out for his friend…

….

May I Have This Dance?

Chapter 6: The Rest of Their Lives

….

Crowley was completely, utterly _astonished. _He absolutely couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that they had _won. _He and Aziraphale, Adam and the Them, Shadwell and Madam Tracy, Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer… they had won.

They had stopped the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, had even stopped Satan himself.

Crowley had hardly allowed himself a breath for the last eleven years, working tirelessly to stop the Apocalypse. Every second that he wasn't nannying Warlock or coming up with a game plan with Aziraphale, he was worrying himself to death about what would happen if Heaven or Hell found out about what they were doing or what would happen if they didn't stop the war or…

Crowley could finally breathe again.

Because the Earth was saved, and he and Aziraphale were still alive to enjoy it – together.

Then, he was being carted off to Heaven, wearing Aziraphale's face, and he couldn't breathe again because _dear God, Aziraphale was going to Hell and the demons might try to kill him with something other than holy water and what if they try something else _after _the holy water and what if…_

Crowley felt like he was choking on air until the moment he saw his own body walking toward him in St. James's Park. Then, he let himself breathe again, because _yes, finally, they didn't have to worry about the war or their Head Offices or anybody interfering with their daily activities. They could just be them, for the rest of time._

Crowley allowed himself to smile freely as he and Aziraphale swapped their bodies back, allowed himself to bask in the thought that they were finally free.

As their dined at the Ritz, Crowley couldn't help but feel like this was the first day of the rest of their lives. They got to be themselves, they didn't have to be the pawns of Heaven and Hell anymore.

As Crowley lifted his glass to Aziraphale's and toasted "to the world," he was fully aware that he was toasting to more than the Earth. Because, while this planet, and the humans, and his car, and everything else that was saved from the Apocalypse was important to him, there was one thing, one being, that truly meant the world to him.

And when Aziraphale clinked his glass against his, when the angel said "to the world" with love woven into every inch of the statement, Crowley let himself hope that they could finally be together. They no longer had to fear Heaven or Hell or the Apocalypse… nothing was stopping the two of them from doing whatever they wanted.

And right now, Crowley wanted nothing more than Aziraphale.

….

After they (or, rather, Aziraphale) ate to their hearts content, the two of them made their way back to the bookshop to indulge in wine and reminisce about their friendship of six millennia.

When they were a few glasses in, and Aziraphale had started a particularly nice classical record, Crowley decided that enough was enough. He no longer had any excuse to avoid admitting his feelings for Aziraphale.

He was firm in his belief that Aziraphale loved him back, at least in some way, so he didn't necessarily have to fear rejection. The war had been averted, and they no longer had to fear retribution from Heaven or Hell.

They had the rest of their lives, the rest of eternity, to spend together, and Crowley had absolutely no need or desire to continue living their lives as friends when they could be _so much more._

Crowley gracefully stood from where he had been draped over the couch, carefully setting his glass of wine on the table and allowing himself to sober up from the faint buzz he had been feeling for the last twenty minutes.

As he walked over toward his best friend, he removed his sunglasses from his face and discarded them onto a book-covered table near the record player, feeling a faint blush creep up his neck and spread across his cheeks.

"Angel…" he muttered, taking the glass from Aziraphale's hand and setting it on the table next to his glasses. "May I have this dance?" he held out his hand in invitation, staring at the floor in a small amount of embarrassment. Sure, he knew that Aziraphale loved him, but it was still nerve-wracking, asking the love of your life to slow dance with you if you're not even sure that they feel the same way.

He felt something brush up against his arm, and he felt the first tendrils of disappointment and despair start to curl in his stomach before he saw Aziraphale's chest come within inches of his own.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Aziraphale carefully took ahold of his hand and placed the other lightly on his shoulder. Crowley felt his flush deepen as he placed his free hand on Aziraphale's waist.

"Of course you can, my dear." Aziraphale muttered, seemingly equally embarrassed.

As the pair began to sway along to the music, Crowley found that Aziraphale was drifting closer and closer to him, until they were chest-to-chest, and the angel's head was resting on his shoulder.

Crowley let himself breathe a sigh of relief as he felt Aziraphale's heart thumping against his own. Yes, they were alive. They had all the time in the world to be together like this.

Crowley felt Aziraphale sigh too, and allowed himself to rest his chin atop the angel's fluffy, white-blond curls. "I'm so… relieved, angel." He muttered.

"As am I, dear." Aziraphale muttered against his chest.

"If we had… if everything… if _you _had… died…" Crowley found that he could no longer form coherent sentences. He felt Aziraphale squeeze his hand and move even closer.

"I know, Crowley. I feel the same way. If anything happened to you…" he trailed off, brushing his thumb over the demon's knuckles.

Crowley breathed in deeply and bent his head so his cheek was resting atop Aziraphale's hair.

"I love you, angel." He whispered. His face was forced upward as Aziraphale pulled away from his shoulder, moving so they could look into each other's eyes.

"Oh, Crowley…" Aziraphale lifted his hand that was on the demon's shoulder, bringing it up to Crowley's face and stroking his cheek with his thumb. "I love you too. Never doubt that, dear."

As they swayed back and forth, Crowley found himself leaning into the hand on his cheek, feeling tears threatening to spill from his eyes like they had on the day when he had delivered the Antichrist.

Aziraphale reached up and brushed his thumb under one of Crowley's eyes, catching a falling tear on his finger as a matching one fell from his own eye.

Crowley found himself instinctively leaning forward, bringing their foreheads together. He found that he simply couldn't get close enough to Aziraphale, after spending so many years keeping a distance between them.

"I know you've been waiting a long time to hear that from me, Crowley. I know you have loved me for a long time, probably for many millennia. I was afraid of Heaven, of Gabriel…" Aziraphale trailed off.

Crowley closed his eyes, allowing himself just to enjoy the moment, to take pleasure in this moment of simply being with Aziraphale, being able to be as close as they wanted without worrying about repercussions.

"I have wanted to do this for _so long, _angel. If I'm honest, I wanted to dance with you while we were standing on the wall of the Garden, to move to the sound of the rain falling all around us. But none of that matters now. All that matters is that we're here, together, and nothing can take that away from us. Not Heaven, not Hell, not Earth. This planet could shatter under our feet right here, right now, and we would stay like this, floating in the vacuum of space. Because now that we're together, I won't let anything tear us apart." Crowley let another tear fall from his eye onto Aziraphale's hand, which was still pressed against his cheek. "I love you, Aziraphale, I love you so much…" he couldn't form any more words. He let himself just enjoy being close to Aziraphale after spending so many years being forced to keep a distance.

Then, he found himself looking down at the angel's lips, and suddenly found that he could hardly contain the need to kiss his best friend.

"Can I…" Crowley started to ask, trailing off as he looked at Aziraphale lips again.

"Yes…" Aziraphale whispered, his breath hot against Crowley's cheek.

He willed himself to lean forward just enough to capture Aziraphale's mouth with his own, something he had wanted to do for six millennia.

He felt Aziraphale kiss him back, felt their tears mingling together as they finally realized that they were together and nothing could tear them back apart.

They were just so bloody _happy…_

As Aziraphale pulled back from the kiss and gave him a small smile, Crowley couldn't help but be glad that he had waited as long as he had to take this dance. Because, if they had done this earlier… Crowley wasn't sure that it would have gone the same way. Aziraphale may have pulled away, or decided that he didn't want to be friends anymore.

But now… they were free to love and be loved however they wanted, without fear of punishment.

As his blessed, beloved angel once again leaned forward to rest his blond head on his shoulder, and Crowley couldn't help but feel like he was soaring, like he had never Fallen at all.


End file.
